


Where Fear Was Killed

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Alexander Trilogy - Mary Renault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-12-21
Updated: 2004-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-25 03:08:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1628372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for Kel</p>
    </blockquote>





	Where Fear Was Killed

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Kel

 

 

The voices from the komos are thinning. It might be the curtains of willows growing along the banks of the river, or the armours of those who lay dead beyond it, which shield the sloping plain of Cheironeia from desecrating laughter. The moon is half full and the wine has been flowing since the last Athenian had thrown down his sword and surrendered to Philip of Macedon. The drunk outnumber the sober, and they make sport of their fallen enemies unashamed.

They will regret it in the morning, and make amends, but Hephaistion is glad for the quiet just the same. He's glad that the drink is gone from his breath and his mind, or it would have dulled the faces of those they had killed. Hephaistion feels no guilt. The Thebans died with their honour and their glory intact, they had fallen only to Alexander, son of the King.

But Alexander is leaning against his side, and his step falters along the reeds and the nests by the river, his shoulder against Hephaistion's and his arm around his waist. Alexander has given his fine cloak to the dead, his gift for their travel. He makes his own amends, and for his own reasons.

The winds from the mountain bring him closer to Hephaistion, out of habit rather than real necessity for warmth, but Hephaistion is grateful and slows their steps to savour it. From the field of broken bodies comes the wail of the grass and the barley, as they are pushed to the blood soaked ground. The gods are with them, and they walk across the plain, drawn by the torches and the hymns.

But they are alive, Hephaistion thinks, and greater than they were in the morning. Athens is laid out for them like a feast and that pig Demosthenes will find no rest until he is cold from the gallows, disgraced for his cowardice and his lies. Thebes is punished and, in time, she will we tamed. The Band will be honoured and remembered by all, and as the hammer that broke their shields, Alexander will be too.

Alexander's hands are cold against his skin, but that's just the battle-fever finally waning, and the distance between the royal tents and their place among the willows and the thrushes.

"They died together." Alexander exhales, and Hephaistion keeps his silence. "Do you suppose they are angry with us, for not granting them the possibility of avenging their friend?"

If soldiers could be angry at the enemy that slaughtered them, then there is an army of ghosts greater than any a King could command, but Hephaistion does not want to dwell on that. Not when the carrion birds are circling from the hills and the field to his right will be a tomb come morning. The earth has drunk their offerings, and hopefully she will be kind to the bones she will keep.

"I think they have found each other, and are glad they did not have to wait long to meet again."

And may they be content with their lives and their loves, for the wine for the libations will be good and the garlands kept fresh and their descendants will know them brave. But Alexander is not satisfied, and his mind cannot find peace. It has been too close to death and it needs to be soothed, so Hephaistion brings them to a thicker groove off the path where no soldiers have tread.

They lie down on Hephaistion's cloak to ward off the damp of the night, and the moon shines like a coin through the silver leaves over their heads. The air is soft, but Alexander's breath is warm on Hephaistion's shoulder and he smells like the wild roses of Mieza. There is stubble on Alexander's chin and Hephaistion rakes his hand across it.

"I would die before I lost you, Patroclus, but that is not the fate I see before me."

It is the fate of snakes and oracles, and Hephaistion feels that it is the son of a god he's holding and he does not believe it is blasphemous to think thus. Alexander has ridden in battle like a howling flame and broken the line of the Thebans like a gale through a field of wheat, and Hephaistion has been close enough to his side to know that no mortal could burn so bright and not be consumed.

"If that happens, my Achilles," and Hephaistion smiles, because there is no fear of death here, between their bodies awash in moonshine, "avenge me and do not forget. I will wait for as long as it takes to see you again. And I will tell your ancestors that we were friends, and talk of the great Alexander of Macedon."

But Alexander's mouth is still pinched and his arms rigid against Hephaistion's sides so he must bring their chests together and run his fingers through Alexander's golden hair.

"Do not worry about me, Alexander. I shan't leave you. And if the gods command it to be so, then I shall come to you in dreams, and we will talk then."

Alexander laughs and there is true cheer behind it, the great divide between the dead and the living forgotten.

"I would talk now, too, Hephaistion, but it seems to me you are trying to prove your vigour with your flesh," he says, and slips his thigh between Hephaistion's until his chiton is bunched up around his waist.

"You talk, I'll hold you," because Alexander is pliant in his arms, and let's himself be pushed under Hephaistion's body. They have yet to have their celebration, and this is surely as good as wine in the eyes of the gods. Alexander leads in battle, but it was Hephaistion who killed the youth's friend to save him and Hephaistion who was riding at his right.

So Alexander quotes the Myrmidons and it is Patroclus he plays while Hephaistion strokes the inside of his thighs, first soft, then harder when Alexander traps his hand. It is as it always has been, for Alexander wants no mastery in this, and demands none. His mother made him prove his valour in anger once, yet for Alexander that is one time too many. The act of love is sweet between friends, and Hephaistion will be there to keep the grief at bay.

So Hephaistion kisses him when Alexander sighs, and threads their fingers together to hold the feeling close. They slide together and Alexander frees his hands to grab Hephaistion by the shoulders, pulls him closer and lets his eyes fall shut. It's darker, and Hephaistion finds Alexander's mouth with his own and suckles. The taste is strong, stronger when Alexander exhales into his mouth and Hephaistion has to grab his hips and lift them against his own.

It is Hephaistion who spills first and in the quiet that comes after he can hear Alexander's heart beating fast against his chest. They are alive, and they will be alive for a while longer still so he kisses Alexander's breast and feels where the armour fastenings left their mark. Alexander murmurs and his seed is hot against Hephaistion's belly.

Alexander rarely sleeps after love, but this time he does and Hephaistion feels no guilt for his needs. He rests his head against Alexander's and thinks of friendship, and of warmth.

Philip has united Greece, and he will conquer Persia. After that it will be Alexander's reign and if his fate holds true, he will rule the world to its edges and its only border will be the river Ocean and man's comprehension. But first comes tomorrow, and the burying of the dead.

The night stretches his longest instant over their bodies with the silence of birds. Hephaistion wraps them in his soiled cloak and thinks there will be time enough for war and greatness. He is content with Alexander's smile against his skin.

***

"...the beautiful ardors, the wedded bond of honor, the fire from heaven blazing on the altar where fear was killed."   
\- Mary Renault, Fire from Heaven.

 

 

 


End file.
